


Until There's Nothing Left

by fevered_dreams



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Clone Sex, Clones, Introspection, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/fevered_dreams
Summary: Shiro disappears. Shiro comes back.But everything is different. He is not himself, yet not anyone else, and he is tired.There is no rest for the wicked, though.





	1. Chapter 1

Shiro didn't remember much of his capture aside from a painful blur of heavy resignation. The second one, that is. The first one was also a bit of a mystery regarding the moment he had been taken, though everything that had happened afterwards was piercingly fresh in his mind. Especially the Holts, their faces, their pain.

Shiro had hurt, too. He still hurt. He was always hurting. The pain never went away. In the quiet of night, as Shiro struggled to fall asleep, the ache would flare in his steel-laden shoulder socket before blazing through the rest of his body as it rode across his blood into every cell in his body. Lance would kiss it better, lips roving across his body like a salve, and, in those moments, Shiro felt calm.

Except, he should've known that Zarkon wouldn't let Shiro go, wouldn't let him hold a drop of happiness, even in the moments leading up to his defeat. Zarkon, Zarkon, _Zarkon_. Shiro hated him. Truly, fiercely, forever.

At the same time, Shiro wished he had as much never-ending tenacity as Zarkon. If he did, maybe Shiro wouldn't be letting everyone down within each blink of his tired eyes.

Then, in that brief moment where the light of the blast of Zarkon's collapse had overtaken Shiro's senses, he had been taken once more, leaving behind everyone once again probably worse off than they had been before his appearance in their lives.

Shiro didn't remember any faces from his second round of captivity. There were no battles, no tournaments, no way for him to play the hero and make himself feel better because there was no one besides him. No one to help him hide his fear behind angry bravado. Only faceless Galra droids that hovered over him, poked him, prodded him before he fell asleep and the whole process was repeated.

Held down by tight contraptions that dug into his skin and burned all his nerve fibers down to stubs that only knew how to respond to pain, Shiro often slept in nothing more than empty darkness in the moments between hazy awakenings. There were a number of times, though, where Lance, against all odds of his stripped down mind, appeared in his thoughts.

Beautiful, bright Lance with his wide smile and shining eyes. His lean body, lithe movements, and gentle caresses over Shiro's body, his ugly scars. Some of his dreams were so deeply ingrained in his unconsciousness that Shiro swore that they were the only truth of all realities.

He dreamt that Lance and Shiro were back on Earth, with no call to space damning either of them. All that was expected of them was that they live together happily, peacefully, fingers intertwined and gazes tightly fixed on each other.

Shiro loved it when Lance looked at him.

But then Shiro would awake to the true truth of his life, and Lance was gone from his sight because Lance was safe.

A nasty, horrid part of Shiro wished that Lance was there with him, to look at Shiro with his pretty blue eyes, even if that meant that Lance wasn't safe anymore.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about that anymore.

Shiro was tired. He was hurt. He just wanted to close his eyes and, for the first time in awhile, just let himself forget about everything else and float.

So he did.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro was beginning to hate the color purple. That damnable bright purple hue that filled his senses and seemed to permeate through every aspect of his life, following and mocking him for his weaknesses, his failures, his lost hope. He wanted it gone. He wanted to wipe the universe of that color for all eternity, but, even if he did, he suspected that it would never truly leave him alone.

Even the glow of his cybernetic hand, which had occasionally given Shiro a sense of comfort knowing that he always had a weapon on hand, was nauseating to him. There had been several moments where he had entertained the thought of slicing the whole thing off, right at the very plane where metal met flesh so he could feel it cut away at the nerves it was attached to, feel the tell-tale pain of them tearing away, before throwing it into the empty void of space.

He was certain that Lance would hate the idea, though. In fact, Lance would probably cry, and Shiro hated to see Lance cry.

But even when Shiro blocked the sight of purple from his eyes, it still remained. When he closed his eyes, flashes of bright purple lights attached to alien machinery that held him down and tore apart his mind plastered themselves against the back of his eyelids.

Sometimes, it hurt to sleep. Other times, he wished to fall asleep and never wake up because only in his dreams did Lance exist. Only in his dreams did Voltron and everyone else exist.

Only in his dreams did Shiro matter.

He couldn't, though. He couldn't sleep the rest of his days away. There was still something he needed to do, a soul-bound task that melted under his tongue the moment he knew what it was. He could only swallow it down without ever knowing it's name before it diffused through his body.

But, armed with the burn of necessity in his gut, Shiro woke, and he left.

The only thing that kept Shiro going as he scurried off that Galra battleship, like a cornered rat who had finally escaped from the clutches of a starving wolf, as he crash landed onto an unknown planet was the overwhelming thought that he really, desperately, wanted to see Lance again. He wanted Lance to look up at him with those lovely blue eyes of him, rising up on the tips of his toes to meet Shiro's gaze, before falling into bed with Shiro with a light thump and a heavy laugh.

Shiro really, really liked the color blue. When the purple lights firing through his synapses became too much for him to handle, the thought of blue helped fight them off and all of the dark thoughts disappeared, even if just for awhile.

The water on his face on that planet was cool and felt full of life as it slipped down his throat. Nothing like that wretched, purple-tinged liquid that they had suspended him in. Shiro was beginning to feel like all he had ever known was that purple liquid, as it filled his lungs and burned through his core.

If Shiro were to ever drown, he hoped to breathe in water. Beautiful and blue, just like Lance.

Fuck, Shiro missed Lance.

He missed Lance with the tortuous burn of suffocation, fraught from a tight grip on his throat and too bright sunbursts in the corners of his eyes, so why did he sometimes get the vague sensation that Lance was only someone that he wished he knew?

But, when he finally saw Lance again, as breathtaking as ever, eyes still as bright as ever, tentative smile as captivating as Shiro so clearly remembered, everything, finally, felt right.

"Shiro," Lance whispered, eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Look at you."

"I know. I'm a bit scruffy, huh?" Shiro ran his flesh hand through his hair sheepishly and winced at the coarse, greasy texture of it. "Hopefully I'll be able to get a nice haircut soon enough."

Lance shook his head lightly. "I think it looks nice. You always do."

Even though all Shiro wanted to do was to fall into Lance's arms before dragging him down into bed and forcing Lance to only look at him until Shiro was finally satisfied, which might just be never, he steeled his nerves and got ready to just do what he could for everyone else.

Ulaz had had so many hopes for Shiro before he had died because Shiro was incompetent. Shiro figured that he should try to live up to Ulaz's expectations, to the best of his meager abilities.

Except he couldn't even do what Ulaz had risked his life to allow him to do because the Black Lion didn't respond to him anymore, didn't _want_ him anymore. The Black Lion's silence in reaction to Shiro's presence was discomforting; he didn't know that he would miss the all-body rumble of the Black Lion coming to life underneath him as he sat there, and Shiro especially longed for the Black Lion's gentle murmurings in his head whose words made no sense, but Shiro understood nonetheless.

At the same time, a numbing wave of relief flooded through his every vein and neuron at the thought that Shiro, maybe, didn't have to be the leader of Voltron. Maybe he could rest for a bit, breathe in deep without having to hold it in in preparation for the next shit storm that would pull him underneath the surface.

Though, in all honesty, Shiro was a bit disappointed that Keith hadn't matured as much as Shiro had hoped; while he had obviously gained a sense of obligation as a leader, he still went about everything with his customary hair-trigger reflexes, all fueled by a short-sighted approach to dealing with any and all conflict.

Even in the midst of a battle that Shiro wasn't even involved with - because he had been completely _rejected_ by the Black Lion, despite it finally granting Shiro his own bayard - he had to coach Keith through it all.

Shiro didn't want to be annoyed with Keith. He knew Keith was still young, and that Keith had always been a volatile person. He deserved to be; Keith deserved to be allowed a means of venting his frustration, loneliness, confusion, and fear.

Shiro just wished that maybe, at the same time, Keith could compartmentalize his struggles a bit better to give Shiro a fucking break.

'No, Shiro,' he scolded himself. 'Stop. You have to be supportive of the others. You're their leader.'

Even if he didn't really feel like it anymore. Like he never had been.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro still dreamt of Lance a lot. He liked to devise up grand fantasies where he and Lance were still together years and years later, long after they had accomplished their role as defenders of the universe because that asshole Zarkon had finally disappeared from every reality of life.

The best part of all of those dreams, tinted with an everlasting ray of easy joy and no hint of neon purple anywhere, was the fact that, in them, Lance loved Shiro almost as much as Shiro adored Lance.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, Shiro."

Shiro turned around to the sight of Lance, dressed down in his personal bathrobe, and smiled. "Hey right back at you."

Lance smiled in return before lightly padding over to Shiro. Shiro always liked to see Lance in his room. Now was no exception. "You've already been back for a few days now, but we haven't really gotten the chance to catch up or anything, huh?"

"Yeah, that's true." Shiro wanted nothing more than to strip away his pseudo-leader persona so he could just lay down and cuddle with Lance, comforted by the feeling of Lance's long, smooth fingers running over his skin, even if sometimes the memory of Lance's touch seemed like a memory he had conjured up from a tattered movie reel set on repeat. His head hurt too much if he thought too intensely about it, so he tended not to. "It's been pretty hectic, hasn't it?"

Everyone had asked him extensive questions about where he had been and how he had gotten back. Shiro had a few answers for both question, but they still didn't reveal much about what had actually happened to him. Nonetheless, they had finally let up once they decided they were satisfied with simply having him back.

Throughout all of the endless questions everyone else had dumped on Shiro, Lance had gazed at Shiro was quiet, wanting eyes that Shiro was sure he was reciprocating with at least twice the ferocity.

"Too hectic," Lance responded, wrapping his arms around Shiro's waist as he reached him, resting his head on Shiro's chest. "But I'm glad that you're back." He paused and breathed in quietly. "I missed you."

The small crack in Lance's voice shattered Shiro's everything. "God, I missed you too. So much."

Gently, the two of them landed on Shiro's bed, limbs intertwined and lips locked. Shiro missed this so _fucking_ much. Lance was supple in Shiro's grasp, and the feeling of Lance so pliant underneath Shiro was like a shot of ecstasy straight to his brain and down to his crotch. His cock was already unbelievably hard, and Shiro was already too desperate.

Lance, too, didn't seem to be in the mood for much slow foreplay. There were many a time during which Lance liked to be completely doted on, mewling happily as Shiro worshipped his smooth skin before leaving behind red bruises on beautifully tanned skin in places that only Shiro and Lance would ever know. Shiro was also a huge fan of showering Lance with attention. How could he not be, when it made Lance so happy and gave Shiro a chance to listen to those amazing sounds?

Now, though, the two of them were fueled by a want that had been building for too long. Shiro had spent those endless days under Galran control thinking of, wishing for Lance, and all of that culminated in such a fierce feeling of need that he had to force some back lest he scare Lance off.

So, with trembling hands, Shiro pulled back Lance's bathrobe in a single, fluid motion, before pulling off his boxers. Afterwards, Lance, with those pretty, slim hands of his, slowly pulled down Shiro's sweatpants and boxers before dipping his face into Shiro's crotch, wrapping his warm, wet tongue over his straining cock.

Shiro loved getting head from Lance. He loved the unadulterated attention Lance afforded him when he was busy sucking Shiro off, not to mention the fact that Lance's technique was absolutely amazing. At the same time, Shiro was so touch-starved that he knew he would come embarrassingly fast if he let Lance continue.

So, Shiro lightly pushed Lance off of him onto the bed before crawling over where Lance lay. He rested his chest against Lance's to maximize the contact between their skin because he missed the signature warmth that Lance emanated and reached to his side table for the lube and condoms that they had to ask Coran for, as much as they both had hated it. Coran, on the other hand, had been delighted to help them.

And they had proved useful. Shiro and Lance had found plenty of opportunities to spend time together, and the bottle of lube, which Shiro remembered being fairly full before he had once again been torn away from the people he cared about straight into the clutches of the Galra, felt light in his hand.

"I really missed you," Lance explained quietly at the questioning look Shiro had sent him. "Sometimes, I would come and lay in your bed and pretend that you were still with us, maybe just finishing up your training or whatever, and you would come back to your room and see me being a super sexy vixen in your bed, and then we'd have a nice tumble in the sheets."

Lance's eyes blinked furiously. "But then you never came back, and, after awhile, your sheets stopped smelling like you, and it hurt to keep coming here."

Shiro bit down hard on the inside of his mouth and tasted metal. He wanted the pain to distract him from the heat building up in the back of his eyes. It very nearly worked.

Slowly, Shiro brought down lube-coated fingers to Lance's entrance, and he tried his best to go slow. Lance was tight; he didn't open up with ease around Shiro like he had before, and Shiro was acutely aware of just how long it had been since he'd last touched Lance.

Regardless, Lance moved underneath Shiro with easy familiarity, moving his hands up Shiro's chest, running his fingers over the scars littering Shiro's body, before resting his hand on the junction between flesh and metal.

Shiro hated his cybernetic arm. It was ugly and cold, and, once, he had accidentally gripped Lance with it a touch too hard, and he had never loathed the damn thing as much as he did in the instant that Lance had flinched away with him with a pained gasp.

Nonetheless, Lance never failed to run his thumb soothingly over the pinched flesh. Afterwards, he wrapped his arms around Shiro's neck loosely before pulling Shiro down to meet him. Lance kissed the same way he piloted: with a burst of energy and light euphoria, tongue swirling like the Blue Lion flying seamlessly through the air. Or maybe it was the Red Lion now.

But Shiro would never be able to fully accept Lance with the Red Lion because, while he blazed with passion and pursuit, Lance didn't have the same wily impulsive nature that Shiro had attributed to the Red Lion. No, Lance, underneath his childish capriciousness, was still tempered by timid grace and vulnerable lucidity that could only be the Blue Lion and Lance.

Lance's moans were becoming more haggard and breathy, so Shiro gently slipped his fingers out to reach for a condom. Suddenly, Lance sat up, resting a heavy hand on Shiro's.

"What's wrong?" Shiro asked. "Are you ok? Do you want to stop?"

'Please don't make me stop.'

"No, no, _God_ , no," Lance breathed. His hair bounced lightly with the shake of his head. "I think I'd die if you stopped now. Do you know how long I've dreamt of this?"

Shiro had a guess. He had been dreaming a lot, too.

Lance shook his head again. "I was just thinking that maybe... Maybe we could do it without a condom today. Only if you want to, of course."

Shiro should've refused. He should've kissed Lance up and down, murmuring sad whispers of how they were still unsure as to what exactly the Galrans had done to him, and maybe negative side effects of their ministrations had permeated into his cells right down to his sperm, and maybe all those nasty words whispering in Shiro's head would worm their way into Lance's kind if they weren't careful, and that it just wasn't worth it.

But he couldn't form the words. He didn't want to. He wanted to sink in deep, then deeper, and take as much as he could before the dream ended again.

The flick of his wrist as he tossed the condom package aside was downright sinful, he knew. Shiro knew he shouldn't do this. But he wanted to be as selfish as Lance would let him be.

So, coated with a slick layer of lube, Shiro pushed in achingly slow to ensure that he would have enough time to capture every moment of Lance's face during the push.

One of Shiro's favorite things about Lance was how expressive he was. It seemed as thought Lance's face displayed hundreds of fleeting micro-images as Shiro moved forward, and Shiro tried his best to drink all of them: the flicker of the eyelashes, the slow and then sudden hang of his pretty mouth, and all the tiny twitches of the muscles under smooth skin. Shiro wanted them all.

Shiro was wound so tight after so many days of haunting desire that he didn't last long afterwards. Thankfully, Lance also seemed quite strung; Lance pushed back against Shiro with vigor, meeting Shiro thrust for thrust with a heavy snap of his hips punctuated by breathy moans interspersed between messy kisses.

As his climax approached, Shiro tore his face away from Lance, ignoring Lance's displeased whine, in favor of burying himself in the crook of Lance's neck to suck down hard and hide the tears bursting through visions of white.

Nonetheless, Lance had known. After the two of them had finally come down from their high, Shiro felt Lance's spindly fingers running over his scalp and through his short - shorter than usual - hair.

It felt good. It felt like coming home.

"It's been rough, huh?" Lance whispered, voice lilting with every tremble of his throat. Shiro could feel warm salt water roll down his shoulder. "You've had it really rough, haven't you?"

Lance was sad, but Shiro was sad, too, so he let it go, just this once and cried.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro liked to sleep. Either his mind was empty and he was finally allowed a brief, blessed moment of pure reprieve, or his thoughts were filled with simple and sure images of him and Lance, happy.

Except Shiro couldn't keep sleeping like this. He couldn't keep hanging onto his dreams like this for sanity's sake because, every time the dreams melted down with each of his awakenings, he suffered more than they could soothe.

He couldn't stand to see Lance leave.

So, Shiro figured that maybe, as much as it hurt, it was time to wake up and go back to them. The commotion going on around him was quite compelling, after all. Loud, too, and amongst it all, he could swear that Lance's voice was there, floating over him sweet and imploring.

But why did it also sound like his own voice was there, too?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started this story about a year ago when the clone shiro stuff first started and then got busy and just left it
> 
> but then they killed kuro off, and i miss him so much, so here we are again!

When Shiro opened his eyes, beautiful Lance was there, and it was not a dream.

He knew it wasn’t a dream because none of his dreams ever had Lance looking down at him with big, pitying eyes in the middle of a Galra base.

He also knew it wasn’t a dream because he had never before dreamed of his own doppelgänger staring at him with absolute horror. Shiro wondered if his expression mirrored the other's. They had the same face, after all.

“What - “ Shiro croaked out. His voice was dry, and his eyes burned at the sudden brightness around him. Tears gathered at the edges of his eyes, and they made his eyes sting even more. Even having Lance so sweet in front of him didn’t help much. “What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Lance whispered. He threw a few scraps of cloth around Shiro hastily. “First, let’s just get you out of here.”

He bundled Shiro up tight in the scraps of itchy fabric that littered the tiny room they were all crowded inside. It wasn't particularly comfortable, being cocooned in it, but Shiro didn't have the heart to tell Lance that. Not when he was obviously trying so hard.

Lance always tried so hard. It was one of the things that Shiro adored most about him.

It was one of the things that, in odd moments, made Shiro anxious.

In the end, Shiro didn't say a word about how the torn up blanket scratched up his already tender skin. He stayed silent the whole the entire time as they all hauled him out of wherever they were. He didn't make a noise as his look-alike approached him. The other him brushed his fingertips against Shiro’s arms, just once for a moment, before quickly reeling away and running off ahead of them, like a dog whimpering away from the edge of an electric fence.

Yes, this wasn't a dream. That touch had been real, and it had hurt.

"He's a clone," Lance later explained, eyes downcast and teeth worrying away at his soft lips. Shiro, lonely and wanting as he was, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the shine of Lance’s lips as he licked away the indents of his own teeth. “Haggar made him to spy on us, except then he gained his own consciousness, so then he joined our side. Or something.”

Lance licked his bottom lip again with a heavy sigh. “So, now here we are. There are two of you now, kinda.”

Shiro didn’t speak for some time. He knew there was another Shiro. He had seen him, after all. Had felt him, knew that he was solid and not just a figment of the imagination that Shiro’s pain-addled mind had come up with. Still, hearing the news aloud was more jarring than he expected.

“Is he still around?” Shiro asked.  

Lance cocked his head to the side curiously. “Well, yeah. We couldn’t just leave him.”

To be honest, Shiro wasn’t sure why not.

He didn’t admit that, though. Instead, he blandly took in the empty space between him and Lance with disdain before he unceremoniously threw himself into Lance’s arms. He heaved in a horrible breath as he nuzzled his still unkempt hair underneath Lance’s chin. If it bothered him, Lance didn't let it show. He simply wrapped himself tight around Shiro and offered him tender coos and cuddles until Shiro fell asleep. This time, he didn't dream, but he didn’t mind because he didn’t need them anymore.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, the first thing Shiro did was take a shower. Streams of grime and dried blood floated down the drain as Shiro scrubbed. He scrubbed hard and long up until the very moment Lance had stepped in alongside him, clothes now soaked, so he could pull the now bright red cloth out of Shiro's hands.

"Shiro," Lance said, and he was sad. "That's enough."]

Silently, Shiro let Lance lead him out of the shower. With hesitant hands, Lance gently wiped away the blood beading through the wounds Shiro had reopened before slowly cutting away the long, split ends of Shiro's hair with careful hands and hums. He sat behind Shiro with no mirror in front of them, which Shiro was grateful for. Looking at himself would only remind him of staring his clone in the face, and he didn't think he could handle that just yet.

His hair was completely white now. He wondered if Lance still thought it looked good.

"Lance," Shiro said, and he barely recognized his own voice anymore. "Has everyone been ok since... since I've been gone?"

Lance snipped a few more locks off, ran his fingers smooth across Shiro's scalp. "Things could've been better, but it hasn't been terrible. Keith took over piloting the Black Lion for you, like you wanted him to, and now I'm piloting the Red Lion." He paused, dug his blunt nails a little deeper, and Shiro leaned into the blessed scrape with an inaudible groan. "Allura's with Blue, now."

"That's good," Shiro breathed, burying himself deeper inside Lance's touch. "I'm glad everyone's ok."

Lance brushed hand against the nape of Shiro’s neck with painstaking care. “But _you're_ not ok.”

Shiro’s throat closed, and he thought he would die.

“Shiro,” Lance continued. “If you need to, you know I’m here for you to talk to.”

Shiro didn’t respond. He could hardly breathe.

Lance opened his mouth, ready to say more, before deciding against it with a barely audible sigh. Instead, Lance nestled his face into the crook of Shiro's neck to flit kisses there. "I missed you," Lance whispered into Shiro's skin, and Shiro wished he could brand himself with Lance's voice.

"I missed you too," Shiro said. He breathed the words into Lance with a kiss, and Lance kissed back, needy and desperate. Carefully, Lance left the scissors he was holding on a nearby desk before he let Shiro fall back onto him completely.

Shiro felt weak and tired, nowhere near recovered enough from whatever they did to him this time, but he needed this. He needed to feel Lance underneath him, warm and breath hitching at Shiro's touch. He needed to remind himself once more that this wasn't another one of his hopeful dreams.

He didn’t know if he’d be able to take it, if it were.

Lance's gasps sounded even better in real life, and Shiro wondered how he had ever managed to fool himself into thinking that they could be anything less than amazing. Grinding down hard, Shiro lapped and sucked at the side of Lance's throat with vigor. Lance moaned deep, rolling his hips up in sync with Shiro.

Shiro wanted to last longer and do more. He really did because he wanted everything Lance was willing to give him.

Except, he could feel the pleasure mounting in his touch-starved body far quicker than he had anticipated or hoped. It was like he was young and in the throes of puberty all over again, but this time he actually had someone there with him instead of just his own hand. This time, he had a reason to want to make it last as long as possible.

Of course, that meant that Shiro ended up coming moments later with a sharp shudder and harsh groan, all before either he or Lance ever had the chance to remove their clothes.

"I'm sorry," Shiro stuttered, his embarrassment growing along with the wet patch in his pants. "I - I didn't mean to - "

"It's fine," Lance said firmly, kneading his hands up and down Shiro's arms. "It's ok. Don't worry about it. Everything is fine now, and I don't care at all about whether or not you just came in your pants. And, you know, who could blame you? It is me, after all."

Shiro chuckled, and it was a strange. He felt a little strange.

He was so used to being perfect, so accustomed to breaking all the records and being the best damn leader he could possibly be for a group of teenagers turn young adults stuck in space. He had done it for so long that he almost couldn't fathom being anything else.

But here, with Lance and his smiling face, Shiro thought that, maybe, it was ok for him to just be his weak self for now.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro let himself wallow for the rest of the night before breathing deep and venturing out to face everyone else the next day. First, he turned and stared at himself dead-fast in the mirror. In the grand scheme of things, not much had changed. The only scar visible to most others was still that long-since healed stripe running across his nose, and his face looked, surprisingly, quite the same. His hair was white, now, which was a bit startling to see at first, but overall not strange.

The clone's hair was old, now - black with that tuft of white that Lance had found so charming. A memory of the past that yet lived.

Shiro shook that thought out of his mind and forced a smile. It looked just about the same as it used to. Good. As hard as it was, he wanted to greet everyone again looking like what he used to be to them. If he played his cards right, maybe he could even _be_ that person again.

Even with his clone around.

Everyone else also looked largely the same, and they greeted him with the vigor that they didn't have when they first found him. Keith, in particular, barreled himself into Shiro's waiting embrace with a force that Shiro hadn't expected.

"Shiro," he sighed, and now his breath reached higher than it had before. He felt a bit larger, too, more muscular. Shiro wondered when that had happened. "You're back, really back."

"Yeah," Shiro whispered, still into the top of Keith's head because at least he hadn't gotten that tell yet. "I'm back."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Lance smiling at them, calm and pleased. And, from the other corner of his eye, Shiro could see his clone slinking in the corners - watching, yet hesitant to join them.

Shiro didn't exactly mind that. He didn't particularly want his clone around him.

They had dubbed him Kuro to differentiate him from Shiro because now he couldn't be Shiro anymore. A mean little part of Shiro relished in the fact that is sounded like clone, if he listened hard enough.

Shiro rarely saw him as the days passed, and, when he did, he was always skulking somewhere almost out of sight, watching. Most of the time, his eyes were fixed on Lance. It wasn't a surprise, considering the fact that Haggar at somehow managed to implant Shiro's memories into Kuro.

Shiro, too, loved to look at Lance.

Still, he couldn't help but clench his jaw so hard his teeth ached whenever Lance would sneak looks in return. Though, once again, if he really did have Shiro's memories, then Kuro probably felt the same way whenever he saw Lance with Shiro.

They were both pitiful fools, he supposed.

Shiro felt that sentiment even deeper the next time he got the chance to properly be with Lance after the whirlwind of Voltron, the Galra, Lotor, and more. Lance was just as pretty under Shiro as he had remembered, and, up close under the dim lighting, Lance had even more muscle tone now than he had before. Regardless, Lance was still smooth and silky against Shiro's touch.

Lance's muscles flexed beautifully from Shiro's attention, and he still kissed with single-minded eagerness. In general, his mouth was greedy and willing as Lance swallowed Shiro's dick down in a desperate plea to please. Tongue roving, Lance sucked and licked all over with the best, wet sounds before swallowing Shiro down completely.

As Shiro remembered, Lance was amazing at giving head. Shiro fisted his hand in Lance's hair, his flesh one because he had once pulled too hard with his prosthetic, and held Lance's head down steadfast. Lance didn't mind, though. In fact, Lance just sucked even harder, cheeks hollowing deep, and Shiro couldn't even pretend to last much longer.

He came with a starved groan, shooting straight into Lance's throat With a hum, Lance swallowed it all down, refusing to move until Shiro was completely spent. Lance pulled off smooth and slow with a popping noise and a self-satisfied smile.

"Good?" Lance asked, as if he actually thought that it might've been anything less than amazing. His smirk gave him away, though.

"Yes," Shiro rumbled, using the hand that was previously balled up in Lance's hair to know stroke the side of his face. " _Very_ good."

They laid beside each other for a bit as Shiro got his breath back, but it didn’t take him too long. He really had missed Lance quit a bit, after all. Rolling over on top of Lance, Shiro smiled. Lance smiled back and held him close.

Lance’s legs, also more toned than before, pulled Shiro tight. He felt even tighter around Shiro's fingers, slick and moving slow inside Lance's opening. Shiro took his time opening Lance up, reveling in the feeling of Lance twitching around him and the way his moans sounded as he begged for more.

Vaguely, Shiro remembered what condoms were. "We need a condom."

For a moment, Lance looked at Shiro with wide, bewildered yes. He blinked owlishly at Shiro once before the expression melted off his face. Reaching over to the desk next to his bed, Lance pulled out a condom and gingerly ripped it open before rolling it onto Shiro's cock with a devious flick of his wrist that distracted Shiro from that weird moment that had just passed over them.

After sinking inside Lance, pushing inching deeper slowly, Shiro tried to still himself and give Lance time to adjust. He couldn't help himself, though, and began thrusting with vigor after a few, tense moments. Lance didn't seem upset, at least, as he moaned and clawed at Shiro's back. His voice hitched with each of Shiro’s thrusts, and Shiro returned the sentiment, deep groans and nibbles at Lance’s neck.

Neither of them lasted very long, in the end. Shiro came with a wet groan of Lance's name, and Lance came with a far-away sigh, blunt nails digging into one of Shiro's shoulder blades.

In the aftermath, they laid together in silence, save for their heavy breathing. Gently, Shiro reached a hand over to write nonsensical words across Lance's collarbones. Lance, too, returned the favor, drawing swirling images of things unseen across Shiro's chest.

And, then, Lance swallowed down a breath that sounded ominously uncertain. Shiro, in turn, held his own. "Shiro... you know, I really thought that he was you, when we first found him."

Shiro didn't breathe, but he nodded at Lance to continue.

Lance's breaths were coming out staggered, and, unconsciously, Shiro flitted his fingers through Lance's hair to soothe him.

"Look, there's not easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna say it. I slept with him. Kuro." Lanced paused and snuck a glance at Shiro's face before hastily continuing. "Because I thought he was you! I didn't think... I didn't think for a second that he could've been a clone. He was just like you..." Lance trailed off nervously.

Shiro wasn't looking directly at Lance, but he could see Lance staring at him from the corner of his eye, watching and waiting.

Shiro, too, was waiting.

He was waiting for his emotions to settle. His first reaction had been outrage, not necessarily at Lance himself but towards the situation in general. In all his hopeful dreams and fantasies during his time in Hell, Lance had always had his sights set on Shiro on Shiro alone. He had looked at Shiro with such adoration that Shiro was sure Lance was incapable of even _thinking_ about another person.

Because Lance loved Shiro.

Shiro did his best to console himself with the fact that Lance had been thinking of Shiro. It helped a bit.

The anger only lasted for some passing moments before Shiro was instead overtaken with sadness. According to the others, Kuro had been posing as Shiro for almost eight months. That meant eight months during which Kuro got to see parts and pieces of Lance that Shiro would never be privy to. Memories that Kuro had that made him more than Shiro; he already had everything that Shiro had had before. Now, he had _more_.

Shrio swallowed hard and breathed again.

It was unfair.

"Shiro?" Lance whispered, shifting over to look at Shiro more closely. "Are you angry with me?"

"No," Shiro whispered back. "No, I - I don't blame you. I know you didn't do it on purpose." He still found it hard to look directly at Lance, but he stroked his hand through Lance's hair again anyway, just to pretend like he was almost alright. "I'm just feel a little weird about it, is all."

Weird was an understatement, but it was all Shiro could think of to say. Thankfully, Lance seemed to understand Shiro's underlying sentiment well enough regardless.

"Yeah," Lance said, leaning into Shiro's touch, "I guess it would be."

They didn't speak for the rest of the night, but it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Lance was with Shiro now, the real him, and things were fine, he kept telling himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Except, thing weren't fine, not really, because his clone was still there, and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. He had proven himself useful because he was Shiro - moved like Shiro, thought like Shiro, could command and hold himself high like Shiro - but he also had intel on the Galra that Shiro didn't have, all recalled after he broke free from Haggar's control.

All Shiro had was his title as Champion and fuzzy snippets of bright purple pain.

Kuro even still held some of Lance's attention. Sometimes, in the moments between Shiro trying to connect to the Black Lion again who had since grown cold and quiet, Shiro caught glimpses of Lance and Kuro here, there, seemingly everywhere. Each time, all they did was talk in hushed voices, leaning in close to hear each other. Each time, Shiro only watched for a second before walking past in spite of how hungry he was to just _know_.

Still, he didn't mention it to Lance and let it lay in favor of holding Lance close at night and relishing in the fact that Lance was here, and Shiro was here with him.

It wasn't the fairytale ending with soft smiles and sunset breezes that Shiro had dreamed about for all that time, but it was still everything.

And, as much as Shiro wanted to ignore Kuro, he simply couldn’t. One day, Shiro found himself alone in the training room with Kuro, and he didn't have the nerve to turn around and walk away. Kuro, too, stayed.

Standing there, staring down Kuro there in the middle of open, empty space of black and whites of the walls and Kuro's hair, felt like vertigo. Regardless, Shiro stood his ground and met Kuro's gaze as calmly as possible.

"Kuro," Shiro said. His voice was steady and pointed. Ever-so-slightly, Kuro flinched at the sound of his new name.

Good.

"Shiro," Kuro echoed. It was strange, hearing his name being said in his voice by someone who looked just like him. Like looking in a mirror that hated him.

Shiro nodded. Kuro nodded back, and then they were circling around each other, poised. Just as Shiro did, Kuro had a cybernetic arm fashioned from Galra technology. The purple light that emanated ominously from its hand seared straight through Shiro's cerebrum, and he wondered if Kuro had gotten even that from him, too.

If he, too, hated the color purple.

At the very least, it was clear that Kuro had been implanted with Shiro's memories as Champion. He moved just like Shiro did, with quick bursts of energy all hyper-tuned to his target, but not without the ability to quickly adapt. Shiro felt like he should've been better with this, more able to fight Kuro off, because who would be best to fight Shiro than himself?

But Kuro was skilled and swift, quick to dodge, leap, sprint, roll as he attacked, all while evading Shiro's hits. And, even when Shiro was able to land a blow, Kuro was more than capable of weathering it with what looked like relative ease. On the flip side, Shiro was more than capable of doing the same.

Kuro was good, though, and he had eight more months of experience than Shiro did. That thought infuriated Shiro, and he pushed himself harder against it, surging forward with the kind of recklessness that he thought he had abandoned years ago when he had learned that being brash was going to get him killed.

He was strangely assured that Kuro wasn't going to kill him, though, so Shiro pushed and pushed until his vision blurred at the edges of his eyes, until his sight narrowed straight down to the image of his _clone_ in front of him, real right in front of him. Kuro, in turn, pushed back with as much as he could. Shiro knew as much because they were the same.

Ultimately, their game of push and pull until lungs gave out, until blood pounded heavy and hot, came to an end. Giving all they had for each other wasn't going to last forever. They didn't have that kind of desire to give that much to one another, anyway.

Shiro was panting hard. Kuro was too, and, suddenly, for the first time, Kuro felt so foreign.

Something in the way Kuro breathed, or maybe the way his propped himself up, was different. Kuro held himself just a touch more on the right side of his body than Shiro did because Shiro always favored his left side; it - the side of him that was all flesh - comforted him in a way he couldn't explain despite how much he relied on it.

Then, it dawned on Shiro.

Kuro had been born with metal, and the body sometimes spoke with words that the mind didn't have.

Suddenly, Shiro felt genuine calm wash over him, and he smiled. At what, he wasn't sure, but the smile was there nonetheless, and it felt good.

Like a caged dog, Kuro watched Shiro warily, eyes darting as he searched for the secret that Shiro was hiding. It wasn't really a secret, though.

It wasn't a secret that Shiro hated Kuro. It was just now Shiro could hate him without feeling like he was seconds away from tearing himself apart along with him.

Before they could do anything else, the doors to the training room slid open. The sound startled both Shiro and Kuro, and they whipped their heads around simultaneously to see who was at the door.

Lo and behold, there stood Lance, mouth agape and expression endearingly confused. His eyes flickered between the two of them for some time as he licked his lips absentmindedly.

Eventually, Lance found it in him to speak. "I'm glad to see that the two of you are getting along. How's the training going?"

It was a question within a question, Shiro knew, and, if he knew, Kuro surely knew the same thing.

"It was great," Shiro replied with his best smile that probably wouldn't fool Kuro. "We were just about finished here, actually."

Kuro nodded before adding, "Yeah, it was interesting to spar with myself."

Lance opened his mouth, ready to say more, but Kuro quickly interrupted him.

"Tiring, though," Kuro said, already breezing past Lance. "I'm gonna go eat something and get some rest. We still have to think about what we're going to do with that Galra base, after all. It’ll be easier if I was well-rested.”

"Kuro, wait - " Lance called out, but Kuro was already gone. Frowning, Lance watched Kuro walk away before turning his attention back to Shiro.

"You two really didn't do anything to each other, right?" Lance asked, eyes narrowed. "Look, I understand if you guys don't like each other, but don't you think it'll make it harder for all of us if you two don't at least act civil with one another?"

Shiro tried to keep his smile up, but he just couldn't because he was suddenly so fucking tired. With a snarl, he stalked over to Lance in long, quick strides. Lance only startled for a second before righting himself and standing his ground. They both knew, after all, that Shiro would never hurt Lance.

But that didn't mean Shiro couldn't be angry at Lance. "And what about _me_ ? Has anyone thought about how what they're all doing, how what they're making _me_ do, makes me feel? You don't think things are hard for me now, having to walk around seeing my clone everywhere?"

Lance gulped, but he didn't back down. "Things are hard for everyone right now."

Shiro scoffed. "You don't even know the half of it. You don't even know what I've been through."

"You say that as if I haven't been trying to figure that out!" Lance argued, arms flying across his chest. "As if I haven't been trying! I've been trying to figure it out so I can help you, but all you do is push me away with that sad smile of yours, like it's supposed to make me feel happy to know that you're lying and hiding how you really feel away from me!"

"And why is everything about _your_ happiness?" Shiro roared. His voice echoed through the room, and he noticed Lance flinch away from the harshness of it. "Why is everything about everyone else's happiness except mine?"

"That's not it at all! I'm saying that I'm trying to make you happy, but you won't let me!"

Shiro took a frustrated step back. "How is any of this supposed to make me happy?"

"I'm trying to think of a way that makes everyone as happy as they can be in this situation!"

"Do you really think anyone is happy like this?" Shiro hissed. "Do you really think that?"

Lance gnawed at his lip furiously before answering. "It's the best we can do for everyone involved. We just... have to deal with it for awhile, until this whole Galra thing settles down."

" _Bullshit_ ," Shiro growled. "It's the best you can do for your own sake. As long as you're fine, you don't care what everyone else has to deal with when they have to see their clone because it makes you feel better about yourself. At least you had _him_ to humor you for awhile."

It was unfair, Shiro knew, but he couldn't help the way his mind seared at the thought of Lance with Kuro because Kuro had stolen what was Shiro's for all that time.

It was unfair.

Lance's mouth trembled, but even Shiro couldn't bother himself with it now. "I thought you said you understood! About how I thought he was you!"

"I do!" Shiro responded with a frustrated shout. "But now that I'm back, we don't need him here anymore!"

"What else are we supposed to do? Are you saying we should've just left Kuro out there to die?" Lance asked.

"Yes. We should've let him rot."

Lance sucked in a hasty breath and stared at Shiro like he was seeing him for the first time.

"Shiro, how could you say that?" Lance whispered, blinking furiously.

"Because it's the truth." Shiro gave Lance a wry smile. "Don't look at me like that. I thought you wanted to know what I was really thinking. You can’t be upset about it now."

Before Lance could speak again, Shiro stalked out of the room past him, all but sprinting to his quarters, upset but already wishing that Lance was there with him, all while wanting desperately to push him away.

He was frustrated. He was angry.

He was tired.

And yet, he couldn't sleep. Shiro couldn't handle sleeping alone, apparently. Not when flashes of bright purple passed across the back of his eyelids.

Briefly, he wondered how Kuro was doing.

After a few hours of tossing and turning, Shiro heard the door to his bedroom slide open. He didn't turn to look as the bed dipped beside him and as someone else slid his way underneath the covers. He already knew who it was.

"Shiro," Lance breathed, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Shiro's neck. "I'm sorry. I love you. I just want you to be happy."

"I know," Shiro whispered. He reached a hand back and felt Lance grab it without hesitation. "I love you too."

He turned around and couldn't help but admire Lance's face, obscured as it was underneath the dim lighting. Gently, Lance reached a hand out to slide warm, soft fingers down Shiro's cheek.

Lance was here, with Shiro, and that was good.

Shiro slept without the purple. Instead, he had a dream where Lance and Shiro were lounging together in their beautiful home by the sea with their big, black dog sitting with them. Dangerous, but docile, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was fun but at first difficult to come back to this story just bc it's been so long lol
> 
> anyway, please let me know what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me, come find me on [tumblr](https://fever-d-dreams.tumblr.com)


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